


First kill

by AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst



Series: Ivar x Ylva [10]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, F/M, Fluffy (by their standards), Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Ivar and Ylva bathing together, Ivar has very inappropriate thoughts about Ylva, Just general violence, Kind of angsty, Knife Violence, Sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, Smut-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst
Summary: An Ivar x Ylva modern au about Ylva's first kill. This is very different from the original fic. Read the tags carefully before deciding if you want to/should read this fic.





	First kill

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keeping promises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490925) by [AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst/pseuds/AnUnhealthyDoseOfAngst). 



The afternoon has passed unusually slowly. Even with all the preparations for the meeting, the brothers and their closest employees find themselves having over an hour to kill before Ecbert’s men arrive. Ivar spends the time studying every shift in Ylva’s behaviour. She’s gone from biting her nails, to scratching at her arms, then back to the nail biting. All in spite of Helga and Hildur’s attempt to distract her and coax her into eating. She’s resorted to chewing on a cuticle when Sigurd strolls inside the dining room, the fingers of one hand wrapped around a glass of wine and face pulled into a self-satisfied grin.

“They’re here.” He announces while slumping in one of the chairs. Ivar finds his enthusiasm sickening. The change in the air is palpable and every single member of the Ragnarsson’s staff straighten their backs. Though no one tenses as much as Ylva. She looks ready to bolt out through the nearest exit, everything about her body language screaming that she has to get out of there. Ivar still can’t believe Björn’s audacity; inviting Dunstan and half a dozen of his goons to the estate even though he knows what the piece of shit did to Ylva. She jumps when Ivar places his hand on top of hers and, without thinking, Ivar makes a noise as if to soothe a frightened animal. Ylva leans in closer.

“Go to my room and close the door.” He says firmly while gesturing for Lars to come. The older man offers a reassuring smile as he holds his hand out for Ylva to use as support, which she accepts with her eyes still glued to Ivar’s.

“Stay with her.” Ivar orders.

 

*******

 

Ylva sits hunched forward, with a blanket hiding her almost entirely and every single one of Ivar’s pillows gathered around her like a wall. She hasn’t registered a single word of the 3 hour long movie. She remembers Dunstan. The smell of cigarettes on his breath and his dirt blonde hair. He was one of the first to come to the cell in Aelle’s basement and last night he was in her nightmares too.

“Miss?” Lars’s voice breaks through the cloud of anxiety.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, glancing at her arms. Ylva follows his gaze and she winces when discovering the red stripes indicating that she's been scratching at her skin again. It’s eating her up; knowing that Dunstan is in the same building as her. That Ivar’s brothers are discussing with him as if he’s just a common business partner and not the scum of the earth.  She knows what he really is. What he deserves. Ylva squeezes her eyes shut for a second and takes a deep breath before answering Lars.

“Actually,” She starts “could you go get me a snack from the pantry?” He hesitates, glancing at the door.

“Are you sure-”

“I am not a child, Lars,” She snaps ”I can manage being alone for a few minutes.” His cheeks turn beet red and he murmurs an apology while getting out of the chair. He pauses right at the door and turns to look at her.

“Chips, nuts or dried fruit?” He asks. She gives him a faint smile. 

“Dried apricots, please.” As Lars closes the door behind him, Ylva feels a twinge of guilt. He’d been so happy to tell her about Iceland since she was too young to remember going to visit her father’s childhood home. He’d even offered to teach her some phrases. She pulls the blanket back and reaches for her crutches.

 

*******

  
  


Ivar seethes as he watches Dunstan shake Björn’s hand, offering his thanks for the meeting.

“I have to say I am pleasantly surprised.” The enemy says as he accepts his coat from Oswald’s outreached hands.

“How so?” Floki asks, sounding deceptively calm. 

“From what I’ve heard, one might have thought you were savages. But-” Dunstan adjusts the sleeves “-you’re reasonable men.” Ivar damn near snarls at the comment, only Ubbe’s hand clamping down on his shoulder keeping him from spitting out every last one of the unsavoury words rushing through his mind.

“I’ll speak with mr. Eahlmunding.” Dunstan confirms as his men begin to rise from their seats. He motions to leave, only to suddenly turn and show his unnaturally white teeth in what might be meant as a sympathetic smile. 

“He was very fond of your father,” Ubbe’s hand tightens its grip, almost painfully “He wanted me to assure you that he regrets the way things ended for mr. Ragnarsson.” Floki coughs out a giggle and when Ivar looks at him, the man is biting his own knuckles as if struggling to stay silent.

“Thank him for us.” Ubbe manages to get out between grit teeth. Dunstan nods and, smoothing his hair back, turns to the exit again where Oswald is already opening the door for him. Once again, Dunstan stops in his tracks.

Ylva is standing in the doorway. There’s something strange about her posture and it takes Ivar a moment to figure out what: She’s using the doorframe as support, seemingly not having brought her crutches. Ivar can hear the sickening sweetness that creeps into Dunstan’s tone as he speaks up.

“Well, if it isn’t-” It happens to fast for anyone to stop it. She lunges at him, shrieking like a banshee. Ylva thrusts her right hand in an upward motion, burying something silvery in his throat. Dunstan gurgles in what Ivar can only assume is confusion. The man staggers backwards and falls to the ground, bringing Ylva with him as her free hand latches onto his hair. A grunt of pain escaping her when her knees collide with the floor on either side of Dunstan. She gathers herself quickly, perching on his chest. Her teeth bared as she pulls the knife back before sinking it into his throat again. There’s a moment of ear deafening silence, broken only by Ylva’s laboured breathing as she buries the knife in Dunstan over and over.

The room erupts into chaos as everyone gathered scrambles for their weapons. Björn shouts for everyone to wait, to stop, but the damage is already done. Edmund aims at Sigurd but never gets a chance to fire as Ubbe places a shot right between Edmund’s eyes. Wielan fares marginally better. Lunging forward, he manages to graze Hvitserk’s shoulder with his knife before getting taken down by Sigyn. Oswald wakes from his stupor and promptly grabs Ylva by the arm. Ivar can hear himself shout for someone to stop the man. Floki takes off towards him with a roar tearing through the air. Snarling like a wolf, the bald man crashes into Dunstan’s goon and forces him to let go. Oswald and Floki are still struggling for control when they land on the floor in a pile of limbs. Ubbe and Björn take out another one. Ivar sees  one man reach to take his gun back from a bloodied Sven. Acting on impulse, Ivar grabs a glass and hurls it at him. Rolls towards him as fast as he can.

“Come on then!” He shouts, steering right into the man’s legs while he’s still cursing and covering his eye. Ivar fumbles, once, twice, before pulling the knife from his inner pocket and sinking it into the man’s eye just as a gunshot rings through the room. For a moment he thinks he’s been hit, automatically recoiling. Then the goon falls over, landing across Ivar’s lap and armrest. Silence falls over the room. Gunnar and Lars stand in the doorway. Floki rolls Oswald’s limp body off of him, gasping for air. Lars lowers his gun, eyes wide as he takes in the sight in front of him. The chaos and the blood. Ivar is nearly as mad with Lars for leaving Ylva alone, as he is proud of Ylva for tricking him. 

“I‘m so sorry. I was just getting her-” Lars begins but Björn cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

“She ruined our last chance at negotiating with Ecbert.” He shouts “All of our work - ruined!” Ivar ignores the shouting of his brother as he lowers himself out of the wheelchair, landing next to the body. He rest his palms against the floorboards as support and shuffles sideways with a grimace until he can place an arm around Ylva’s waist. She tips against his side almost immediately.

“It’s okay,” He buries his nose in her hair, eyelids fluttering “He’s dead.”

 

*******

 

The door slams shut behind them, closing them off from the noises of the cleaning crew moving towards the dining room. Ivar herds Ylva past the wardrobes and into his private bathroom. She sinks to her knees resting her chin on the edge of the tub. He leans forward and turns the water on, one hand idly petting her hair. 

“There,” Ivar turns the water off “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Ylva dips her fingers in the water.

He can’t help but peek at her as she strips out of the bloodied clothes. Ivar wants to kiss each of the scars covering her back. Perhaps even taste the uneven skin on her belly, explore the patch of hair between her legs and- Ivar cuts the thought short. Reprimands himself for thinking she'd ever be interested. Though it proves difficult not to let his mind wander in that direction. He's kissed her before, when they were kids. He’s so lost in the memory that when Ylva speaks, he only blinks in confusion until she repeats it.

“Join me.” She's peeking at him. Wet hair laying slick against her neck and traces of blood still evident on her cheeks. Ivar’s fist tighten around the edge and he forces himself to swallow thickly so his voice won’t tremble.

“Trust me,” He replies bitterly “you don’t want that.” Ylva furrows her brow at his answer. 

“But I do want it.” She says more insistently, as if she's daring him to say he knows what she wants better than her. Ivar’s lips twitch. Ducks his head down to hide the wetness welling up in the corners of his eyes. Small fingers begin to run through his hair and he nearly keens, choking back a sob when Ylva goes on to pet his cheek. 

 

She gives him the courtesy of looking at his face as he undresses and lowers himself into the tub. 

“There’s blood in your hair.” He ignores the shampoo Helga bought for her, instead reaching for his own. If Ylva notices, she doesn't offer any sort of protest. Only tilts her head this way and that to make the task easier for him. He rinses it one final time, moving slowly to make the moment last a little longer. He can’t for the life of him understand why she looks at him like he’s the one making the sun rise every morning.

“Your turn.” She says. It doesn’t sound like a command but still Ivar complies, holding his breath when she brushes against his legs as she repositions. It is over far too quickly for his liking but to his relief she stays, even wrapping her legs around his waist. He doesn’t dare to move. The water has gone cold, he suddenly realizes, and try as he might to stop it a shiver runs down his spine. Ylva reacts immediately, shifting behind him. Her chin rests atop his head. 

“Let's go to bed.”


End file.
